


How to Pass the Time...

by Smackofjellyfish



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, My lifelong crush, Plot What Plot, Smut, also Henry Cavill's thighs, can you blame me really, is Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smackofjellyfish/pseuds/Smackofjellyfish
Summary: Christmas makes Sherlock restless. Your job is to distract him.---A story told in sequential 100-word drabbles for theTwelvetide Drabbles, an annual fourteen-day drabble challenge to raise money for a social justice cause during the holiday season. This year's challenge raises money for thePartnership for Inclusive Disaster Strategies. 

One prompt per day provided byelizajane.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55
Collections: Twelvetide Drabbles 2020





	1. Violet

**Author's Note:**

> It's smut. That's it.

Christmas makes him restless.

His family scattered, Enola who knows where, his mother gone, Mycroft abroad. Clubs and the police station shut, no crimes to solve, nothing to engage his brain.

Your job is to distract him.

And you do, standing behind him where he sits and trailing the petals of a single violet down his cheek. It’s a dangerous game, poking the beast when he’s already on edge. Sherlock is not a patient man, nor always a kind one. But he loves you. Depends on you for just this sort of diversion.

He snaps his newspaper shut in annoyance.


	2. Slate

He turns slowly in his chair, his eyes gray and hard as slate.

“I’m busy,” he scolds you in his deep voice, brow furrowed. You dangle the flower in front of his eyes and he bats it to the floor.

You raise a single eyebrow. “Busy? What were you reading about?”

You know he hasn’t read a word, his attention instead following you as you moved about the study, even while his eyes remained firmly on his newspaper.

Sulking. 

You know him too well, and he sets the paper down on his wide and muscled lap. You envy the paper.


	3. Crimson

As impressive as his brain is, as large his body, he’s also fast.

His hand darts out to catch you by the crimson sash around your waist as you begin to move away. He wraps the ribbon around his fist and pulls you closer.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rumbles.

You shrug. “You’re clearly busy. I’ll leave you alone.”

Slowly, you unwind the sash from his hand, taking care to stroke his fingers as you do so.

He licks his lips and you hesitate. His gaze travels up the length of you.

“I don’t think so,” he says.

  
  



	4. Tangerine

You escape his grasp and move to the sideboard, picking up one of the Christmas tangerines and turning it in your hands. You can feel his eyes on you from across the room.

“Quite busy,” you repeat firmly. “I can see that now.” 

Lifting your chin, you toss the tangerine up in the air and catch it as you turn toward the door.

You hear the leather of his chair creak as he stands, and you glance back at him over your shoulder.

“Stop,” he says.

He loves the chase, but somehow he’s always the one who ends up caught.

  
  



	5. Chocolate

You stroll back to the sideboard, choosing one of the chocolates from the tin, savoring its taste and afterward slowly licking your fingers while holding Sherlock’s gaze.

“I hate to disturb you,” you say when you’ve finished.

He snorts in disbelief.

In two strides he is in front of you, your skirts crushed by the sideboard as he leans in, hands on either side of your hips, caging you. He towers over you and your heart stutters. Not with fear, exactly. But something.

His breath warms your ear, and you shiver. His nose brushes your cheek.

“I am quite disturbed.”

  
  



	6. Emerald

“I do apologize.”

You know he can hear the slight quiver in your voice, that he delights in it.

His lips trace your forehead, and you find yourself staring at the vulnerable underside of his chin. Impulsively, you dart forward and lick the spot in question.

His gasp ends on a hitch of his breath, and you smile.

“Wicked girl,” he growls, and you feel yourself growing hot and damp under your skirts. “You must make it up to me.”

You lean back, and his gaze rakes over the deep emerald satin of your dress. 

“Take it off,” he commands.


	7. Obsidian

You tilt your head at him, watching as his pupils dilate and gleam like obsidian.

You turn and show him your back, and hear another little growl from behind you.

“You know I cannot undo these buttons without assistance,” you say. The buttons run from your neck down to your bottom, a hundred little impediments. A hundred little opportunities.

You feel his large, capable hands at the nape of your neck, then one sharp tug and the buttons scatter across the room.

“But I love this dress!” you protest. You’d worn it for him. For Christmas.

“I’ll buy you another.”

  
  



	8. Lemon

You’re not quite ready to cede the upper hand, so you step aside and let the dress fall to the floor. You turn to face him, wearing only your undergarments, and fold your hands demurely in front of you.

“See what you’ve done,” you chastise, backing up to the chair where he sat moments before. You sit and cross your legs, providing an excellent view of your ankles.

He stalks toward you, kneels, and you catch his scent of lemon and cedar. His large hands are hot as they slide under your petticoats and up your calves to your thighs.

  
  



	9. Lilac

Sherlock is competent at many things, and this most of all. 

His fingers and tongue explore between your legs until you clutch his hair. There is something about the view of Sherlock on his knees, head under your lifted skirts, endeavoring only to please you, that makes the midnight violin, the exacting nature, the verbal sparring, all worthwhile. 

Not that you truly mind any of that. 

The lilacs he gave you that very morning catch your eye across the room, even as your vision blurs at the rise of unrelenting pleasure. 

Then he stills, and you nearly scream in frustration.

  
  



	10. Ochre

You glare at him when he stands, and he smirks. You know he loves to tease, but really. This is too much.

You won’t give him the satisfaction of complaint, however, so you watch him undress. Slowly, garment by garment: his ochre holiday waistcoat which he incorrectly claims is gold, his crisp white shirt, his trousers, and all the rest.

You never tire of this: the great Sherlock Holmes before you, completely nude and focused only on you, his bulk casting you in shadow. And you can see quite plainly just how much he has enjoyed your game so far.

  
  



	11. Silver

“I’m not certain this chair is up for this particular challenge,” you say, measuring his size against the width and sturdiness of the chair.

He leans down and swoops you into his arms.

“The table it is,” he says, his voice a gratifying snarl. You’ve well and truly distracted him.

“No. That table is set with my grandmother’s silver,” you reply tartly. 

He eyes you like he’s not sure whether he wants to throttle or fuck you, then lays you down on the rug in front of the fire.

“Better,” you say smugly, and you push him onto his back.

  
  



	12. Turquoise

He’s been busy these past weeks, arriving home after you’re in bed, locking himself in his study for hours during the day. But now you have his full attention, his blue eyes turquoise in the firelight, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a mile.

You take him in hand, and his head drops back to the floor.

Better still, you take him into your mouth. He’s salty and perfect and so very hard, and before long you feel the tension coiled in his body, ready for release.

The world spins as he rolls you onto your back.


	13. Gold

His skin is gold against the fire, his face in shadow as he looms over you. But you have him memorized, and you can tell he’s not feeling gentle.

Good.

He hitches your thigh over his arm and in one thrust you're joined. You’re both impatient by now, and you relish the ferocity of his movements, the way he attends to your pleasure while chasing his own. 

You find yours first, stars exploding behind your eyelids as you clutch as the hard wall of his back. And then he finds his, fucking you into the carpet and roaring his satisfaction.


	14. Rose

Neither of you move for a long while, the fire a pleasant warmth on your back. But Sherlock is heavy, and eventually you nudge him to your side. He groans and pulls you close.

He swallows, and seems to find his senses. “That was a game well played, love,” he says, a bit shakily.

“Mmm.” You brush his cheek with your hand, smiling at the simple rose gold band on your finger as you do. “Perhaps we might play another round after dinner.”

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “As you wish.” He kisses your knuckles. “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
